SafeHaven
by god yes a healing bus
Summary: Venus and Heatstroke live in a tiny hut by the river, in the middle of a war-torn Pyrrhia. The Sandwing sister's war for the throne has ruined countless lives, but maybe these two dragons can change a few. A story of family, home, and love. Not as bad as it looks. Updates whenever the god I feel like it. Story and cover art by User 1
1. Dreams

" _Hello?" the dragonet's voice echoed through the empty space._

 _She took a tentative step forward, withdrawing a talon as the ground seemed to turn to liquid beneath it._

 _Whispers of nothing raced around the darkness, mist curling in the corners as dark enveloped everything._

" _ **I'm not going anywhere."**_ _a familiar voice rang out, a hazy figure materializing ahead in the blackness._

 _As the dragonet crept closer, the ground now solid, she could recognize a familiar curve of the snout and soft blue eyes._

" _Mother?" she called, racing forward now, mist receding in a pathway._

" _ **I promise."**_

 _And she fell through the apparition, talons clutching at emptiness as nothing but icy air slapped her in the snout._

 _She whipped around, only to see the figure that was her mother shudder, eyes flickering._

" _ **I'm staying right here"**_

 _The voice was a gross parody of the one she knew, buzzing and murmuring with a thousand screeches as the thing that wasn't her mother smiled grotesquely._

 _Tendrils of darkness suddenly came alive, dancing around the creature._

 _She tried to scream but the shadows choked her back, now clawing at her with frozen touches._

" _ **I promise"**_

 _Her mother was back now, warm and kind, but it was too late and the shadows shrouded her light and the blue eyes were lost in dark._

 _Tears raced down the dragonet's snout, as she kicked and thrashed and her bonds, but they closed around her throat and her eyes and everything went dark and then-_

Venus woke up screaming.

Visibly shaking, she blinked the sleep from her eyes, relinquishing her iron grip on the sleeping mat she lay on.

Taking a shuddering breath to clear her head, she peered around the cramped room.

There was the little hearth, last nights fire still lingering in the ashes nestled at the bottom.

There was the faded tapestry she had purchased from the shifty eyed vendor, depicting a sunset falling over a desert landscape. It was worn and dirty, loose threads poking out oddly, but Venus loved that tapestry.

There was the little circular window, potted cactus perched on the ledge. Though the single, shabby curtain was partially drawn, sunlight still peeked inside, washing the room in gold, dust particles drifting lazily around.

There was a musty stack of scrolls, pushed into the corner, each one torn with years of affectionate reading.

There was the small hole in the wall where mice scampered to and fro, scavenging what they could.

And there was Heatstroke, curled next to Venus, sandy scales tinted yellow in the early morning light.

Venus relaxed, familiar sights of her home calming her.

Beside her, she felt Heatstroke stir, tail curling and uncurling lazily.

One violet eye opened then the other, as her mate blinked tiredly.

Venus smiled, and nudged the other dragon with her snout as Heatstroke lifted her neck from the frayed mat.

"Bad dream?" Heatstroke was well aware that Venus never woke up first by choice.

The pale red SkyWing nodded.

"About my mother." she snuggled close to the Sandwing, relishing the slight warmth radiating from her scales.

Heatstroke hummed in understanding, resting her head on top of Venus'.

"How long have you been awake?" The Sandwing casually skewered a lizard rushing past with one claw.

"Just a little longer than you." Venus watched her mate char the lizard with a steady blast of fire.

"Hungry?" Heatstroke offered the blackened reptile to the other dragon.

Venus wrinkled her snout and shook her head no. Heatstroke popped the lizard in her mouth, chewing in silence.

Eventually the red dragon sighed, disentangling herself and standing.

"It's my turn to tend to the herbs." She stretched her wings experimentally, claws scratching wayward patterns in the dust gathered on the floor.

Heatstroke nodded and stood as well, barbed tail brushing against the wall as she moved.

"I'll help you gather them for the market today."

Venus had nearly forgotten. Heatstroke functioned as a healer-for-hire, selling herbs and medicinal supplies in the marketplace monthly, as well as going door to door, and advertising her services wherever she could.

It wasn't much of an income, but there wasn't much to sustain, between the two of them and the tiny hut by the river.

She usually accompanied her mate during the marketplace days, and today was no different.

As the rosy dragon pushed the battered door open, she shivered, despite the sudden rush of warm air. Her chilling nightmare still had her more on edge than she'd admit to her worrying partner.

She shuffled through a familiar path, grains of sand sparkling and shifting as she left talonprints in the soft earth, and sifted a talon through the planter box, a wooden frame filled with gritty soil and a disappointingly small cluster of herbs.

The last few gatherings had less than desirable results, and it seemed this one would prove the same.

Sighing, Venus lifted a dented tin pail from the ground beside the box. They would have to make do with whatever they could earn from the meager harvest. If they were lucky, maybe they'd sell enough to afford a few small luxuries. Like a table. Or some nice jewels.

She fantasized about the extravagances they could have in another life, as she routinely trodded to the riverside, filling her pail.

She could remember the life of a member of nobility she had, moons ago, when she was just a young dragonet, barely hatched.

She remembered parties with glowing torches and shining jewels and red velvet carpets and intricate tapestries with gold thread.

But all that was gone now.

Venus caught a glimpse of Heatstroke through the little window, brow furrowed like it always was when she was reading something. Probably a medicinal scroll of sorts.

She turned away, returning to the task at hand.

Maybe she and Heatstroke didn't have much, but Venus was happy, in her tiny hut with the threadbare tapestry and worn sleeping mat. And the Sandwing healer with the mottled tan scales.

She smiled. These herbs would fetch a fine price at the market.

 **AN: Here's my contribution to the WoF fandom, lessbians. It'll get better, I hope.**


	2. Wishes

The market was quiet.

The steady, blazing warmth from the sun pounded against Heatstroke's scales as she stood, stone-faced, behind her stall.

Glass bottles filled with murky liquids and wilted plants reflected little rainbows on the shabby stand they lay arranged on.

The ongoing war scarcely benefited the business at the marketplace, save when a troop of soldiers came passing through. Today however, there were no soldiers.

Just a handful of desperate vendors and the whistling of the wind. Occasionally a few dragons would venture from the relative safety of their homes, browsing and making what purchases they could.

Not now, it seemed.

Heatstroke could see the vendor across the street, a lazy Sandwing named Grain, fanning himself drearily with a palm frond, cloths that lay strewn about his stall momentarily forgotten.

From the corner of her eye she saw Venus nervously swat at a fat fly that was circling around her snout.

She counted the money again.

5 gold pieces.

So, not ideal.

"We can always try our luck again tomorrow?" Venus attempted a smile, but the meaning didn't quite reach her tired eyes.

Heatstroke nodded absentmindedly. She could tell something was bothering her mate, maybe the lack of sales, though having little usually didn't seem to concern the Skywing.

Sometimes Heatstroke worried that Venus would get tired of such a pathetic lifestyle, and leave her, find a way back to the riches of her past life. She knew it was silly to worry, as the other dragon had assured her on numerous occasions, but she still wondered how someone who knew what it was like to have enough of everything could stand living in literal squalor.

At least they had a house, she reminded herself, and a way to make a living.

That was more than some could boast, the small village of Bastet was overflowing with pickpockets and beggars, dragons with nowhere to go but the dirty streets.

A cloud of dust in the distance drew the attention of Heatstroke, Venus, and practically every vendor in the square, scaled heads all alert and looking.

The cloud grew closer, and was identified to be a traveling party of sorts, a parade of dusty dragons, wings folded as they tramped across the desert.

Heatstroke squinted against the glare of the sun, trying to determine what they were dealing with.

No visible finery bedecked the travelers, so she pegged them for either a troupe of Sandwing soldiers, or a large group of wanderers, perhaps refugees.

She hoped it was the former. Wanderers and refugees scarcely had enough to buy things, while soldiers were certain to have at least one or two among them with money, or at least some wounded she could advertise her aid for.

"What do you think?" Venus spoke, looking anticipatory as she blinked vigorously. Her Skywing eyes might have grown somewhat accustomed to the blinding light and wayward sand grains of the Sand Kingdom, but no other tribe could truly be immune to the biting dust that wormed its way into your vision with every gust of wind.

"I'd say some soldiers."

Venus seemed to like that response, her snout relaxed somewhat, smoothing out some of the wrinkles that always formed when she was concerned.

Sure enough, as the group drew ever nearer, weapons and rigid formation assured Heatstroke's suspicions.

Vendors sprung into action, tidying goods in preparance for the arrival of the potential customers.

Venus straightened some of the herb pouches, then smiled. The wrinkles in her snout didn't disappear.

The marching dragons came to a halt on the outskirts of the town, Heatstroke could see the arranged lines, and faintly hear the gruff orders of the commanding officers.

The orders must have been permission to take a break and recuperate, because the order fell apart as gold and tan bodies made their separate paths.

A good number of them headed towards the town square. It was miraculous to see the way the various stalls came to life, like watching the sick and dying stand up to do a jig.

The clinking sound of coins meeting their new home filled the air, mixed in with the shouts of the vendors.

Herbs and medicinals were not particularly great sellers, the only dragons who seemed to have use for them were those who knew what they were looking for and how to use it.

But with a bit of skill, you could advertise things in a way that made dragons want to hear. After years of working her little stall, Heatstroke prided herself on being able to sell a bottle of arthritis relief cream to a fit young military recruit.

Now, she felt the rush of sales around her, pawning off herbs to curious soldiers as Venus sat beside her, collecting the profits.

The lack of actual goods, due to the regretfully small herb "harvest" earlier in the day resulted in the closedown of her stall sooner than she would have liked.

She helped Venus fold up the small table, as the cool breeze of the twilight began to whisper through the town, and the sky began to fade to a dusky purple.

The total profit was satisfactory, enough to get them through at least another month, if they relinquished a few luxuries and hunted most of their food. Nothing they hadn't handled before.

As she swept the ground calmly with her tail, Heatstroke's attention was grabbed by a rasping voice at the edge of the line of stalls.

"Wishing candle's! All your deepest desires!" the scratched call came from a withered old Sandwing, seated behind a box covered in elaborate candelabra.

The dragon was swathed in a ratty blue cloth, her eyes filmed over, a pale green.

A small crowd of soldiers shuffled away from her stand, one of them clutching a lit candle, looking a bit puzzled.

Heatstroke took a few curious steps in the direction, eyes stuck on the little indigo box and it's ancient vendor.

Venus seemed to notice her mate's gaze, and brushed past her to stand at the box. Heatstroke scrambled to follow.

"-and it will free your wishes with the smoke from the flame." was the jumbled dialogue that she caught as she came to look down curiously at the odd display besides Venus, who was looking with shining eyes at the grinning old vendor.

"Do you think we-" the rosy Skywing trailed off, shaking her head as if to clear the nonsense from her mind. But Heatstroke saw the way she glanced almost wistfully at a basket of twisted white candles, wrinkles notably absent from her snout, looking lost in thought.

They could cut some corners, she decided.

She passed a few gold coins over the table to the elderly dragon, who grinned a toothless grin and handed them a candle.

"Now light it." she whispered hoarsely.

Venus breathed a short burst of fire, the candle's wick catching the flame.

Heatstroke looked into the dancing fire, entranced with the yellow and red and blue all twirling with a strange energy. She had seen candles before, and she was a skeptic as far as magic was concerned, but she couldn't deny something seemed strange and important about this "Wishing Candle"

"Tell it your wishes." the vendor croaked encouragingly.

Heatstroke caught the eyes of Venus, a twisting, soft blue color, now reflecting the flame. She would do anything for those eyes, anything at all.

"I wish for a dragonet." the Skywing muttered hesitantly, then glanced back at Heatstroke with a new glow in her eyes.

Heatstroke almost broke in half. Because that was one thing she couldn't give to her mate.

"I wish," here she paused, voice cracking, "for Venus to always be happy."

And the other dragon smiled sweetly, ripping into her with fresh doubts as she mustered a smile back.

A sudden gust of wind sent chills down Heatstroke's spine, snuffing out lanterns throughout the square. As she heard the noise of disgruntled vendors scrambling to rejuvenate their light sources, she noticed something.

The flame of the Wishing Candle still burned bright.


	3. Rescues

"Let me go!" Needle squirmed in the grip of the burly Sandwing, thrashing her tail in a desperate attempt to stab anything.

This plan of action was quickly extinguished, as one of her captors pinned her tail against the wall.

"I don't think so." One of them snarled, the one with the hideous scar, "Not until you give me back what you stole!"

"I don't know what you're talking about! I didn't steal anything!" This was a lie, and the dragonet knew it. But she wasn't about to give up what she had managed to snatch from one of the Sandwings.

The scarred dragon snarled, and pried open one of her talons. Needle watched helplessly as the pearls and coins clattered down to the stone ground.

She growled, struggling harder.

"You got your stupid treasure back, now let me go!" she tried to snap and the talons pinning her, but her dragonet neck fell short.

"Not until we teach you a lesson." the one trapping her raised his barbed tail threateningly.

"Yeah, not only are you a thief, you're a liar." scar-face leered.

Needle felt fear grip her, as the dragon's venomous barb drew closer to her face, eyes wide.

"Put the dragonet down."

An authoritative voice rang through the cramped alleyway, and the tail drew back, as the group turned to look at the source of the command.

Needle craned her neck as best she could, spying a tall Sandwing glaring down her captors, wings slightly unfurled. Her glare fixed on the one who held Needle to the wall, hardening as the thug sneered back.

"Or what?" the scarred dragon laughed an ugly laugh.

Quick as a flash, the Sandwing lashed out, a fresh scratch bubbling blood forming on scar-face's foreleg.

His beady eyes widened in shock, as the dragon snarled.

"Next time I use the tail."

A moment of tense silence, as the Sandwing and the three thugs held eachother's gaze. The mysterious dragon showed no weakness, eyes staring ahead mercilessly.

Finally the scarred dragon dropped his eyes, and gestured for his ally to release Needle. He glared furiously, as he slunk away, motioning the others to follow.

The Sandwing watched them skulk away, keeping her tail raised and facing them until the last wing disappeared from the alleyway back into the crowded streets.

Needle gasped roughly, rubbing at her throat where she had been pinned.

The Sandwing dropped the defensive stance, turning with a worried look on her snout to face the dragonet.

"Are you okay?" she asked quietly, offering a talon to Needle, who stared at it hesitantly, before taking it and pushing up to her feet.

She nodded, feeling tears pricking up behind her eyes, which she tried to push back.

"Heatstroke." the Sandwing said, and Needle realized she was offering her name.

"N-Needle" she stuttered back.

Heatstroke scanned the dragonet for injuries, brow furrowed with concern. Needle felt herself shrink under her gaze, pulling her wings in close to her body.

The other dragon noticed her nervous posture, and her eyes softened.

"It's okay, I won't hurt you."

The one-year old stared up at the tan snout and the violet eyes. She wasn't sure why, but something felt safe about Heatstroke. And maybe something in the way she looked like she was actually worried, like she actually cared what happened to the little street urchin made Needle remember what it was like to have someone who did.

Memories stirred in her head, of a laughing Sandwing who took her by the talon and led her through the streets, and a kind gaze followed by a tail gently intertwining with hers.

"Promise?" and it came out as a whisper, and Needle wasn't sure why she said it, but she was suddenly so tired of being alone and sleeping in the alleys, scavenging for scraps.

Heatstroke smiled.

"I promise."

And she straightened up, taking the dragonet by the talon.

"Come with me." she said with a grin, gesturing with a wing to the bustling street, which had never looked more colorful to Needle.

Needle didn't know what compelled her to, but she followed.


	4. Reflections

Venus heard the small door creak open, heralding the arrival of someone.

She made no response at first, the midst of a civil war was no time to make assumptions about who was entering your home.

"Venus?" it was Heatstroke's voice, calling out.

The Skywing in question turned from the window and the plant she had been attending to, smile plastered on her snout.

"I have someone I'd like you to meet." her mate's voice seemed unsure, and Venus's gaze shifted from the hesitant Sandwing to the small body beside her.

She couldn't help letting out a small gasp.

A tiny, pale yellow dragonet, with brown markings scattered across her wings, huddled next to Heatstroke, small talon clutching onto the larger dragons forearm.

"This is Needle." Heatstroke explained, tone nervous. Needle surveyed the new dragon with a wide, unreadable stare.

Venus fixed her expression of shock to a welcoming grin, a slow wave of delight hitting her.

"She's going to be staying with us now," the Sandwing explained, tail furling like it always did when she was unsure about something, "isn't that right Needle?"

The dragonet nodded slowly.

"Well, hello there," Venus practically beamed, keeping her voice soft, "I'm Venus."

"I know." Needle's voice was high pitched and squeaky, unsurprising considering she looked about one year old.

"Heatstroke told me a lot about you." the dragonet continued, disentangling herself from the Sandwing's front leg.

"Did she now?" the Skywing glanced up at a flushed Heatstroke, "What exactly did she say?"

Needle was quiet for a moment. Her black eyes seemed to be contemplating something, and Venus was struck with the impression that this dragonet knew too much about the world for someone her age.

"She said," and there was a pause here as the black eyes searched for something, "that you were the kindest, most beautiful dragon she'd ever met."

Venus smiled and laughed, Heatstroke chuckled as well.

" _Am_ I going to stay?" Needle's tone wavered, as the laughter died down. And the dragonet looked uncertain as her tiny gaze bored into Venus's soul.

The Skywing nodded, and that must have been the right answer because she could see as Needle's whole body relaxed.

"I promise." she added.

Later that night, Venus lay awake, staring at the darkened ceiling.

She shot a quick glance at the body curled next to the hearth, fire still present, casting a low orange light on the room. Needle had settled down after a careful evaluation of the room. She hadn't proven to be a talkative dragonet, but Venus didn't mind. It was early yet.

She watched the way the young Sandwing's tiny frame turned into itself, tucked into a small ball, a habit to conserve heat, perhaps. Gaunt bones were visible through the naturally thinner scale lining not unusual for a dragonet, firelight giving the pale yellow dragon a ghostly glow, as limbs twitched slightly.

She turned her gaze to Heatstroke, chest rising and falling rhythmically. The other dragon had only just dropped off to sleep.

Venus could see how tired her mate was. Poverty was livable but not by any means ideal, and the constant busy days of trying to find use of her services, along with the mental strain off having so little, was taking a toll on the Sandwing.

The Skywing draped a wing over Heatstroke, who shifted slightly with a soft sigh. Smiling, Venus settled down next to the dragon who had granted her wish.

She had been given the long version of Needle's rescue, and she swelled with pride to hear her mate recount how she had chased away the gang of dragons.

Heatstroke, of course, downplayed her own role in the matter, with a typical modesty that made Venus love her even more.

" _It was horrible V,"_ she had muttered with a frown, " _to see dragons preying on a dragonet like that- well, I had to do something."_

And she had looked over at the sleeping youngling with the tender gaze of a mother and Venus looked to, at the victim of the world with a story she didn't know and a life on the streets she could imagine (and remember) all too well.

" _It just hurts,"_ and her brow had furrowed, " _to know that there are so many other dragonets out there, like her, like you...:"_ a pause and a tremor in her voice, " _and I can't help them all the way I helped Needle."_

And Venus knew all too well what she meant, and even now she could recall hiding in alleys and looking for the scraps of food left behind, hunting beetles, huddling, frozen, on the ground at night, while you heard the scuffling of rats and, sometimes, (the bad nights) the screams of dragons.

She was lucky that Bog had found her when he did. She was no survivalist, and all her former life consisted of was pampering and velvet cushions and always having what you needed. Without the old Mudwing and his guidance, she most likely would have been found dead in the streets one morning, just another alley beggar to be carted out with the rest of the trash.

The Skywing looked at Needle and she could see herself, a young dragonet without anything, and the still scared eyes that wouldn't feel safe for many moons was a direct reflection of a Venus past.

" _No,"_ she had agreed, because you couldn't save all the pickpockets and street rats and thieves who sat alone tonight, " _but we could save some."_

And now Venus closed her own eyes, and she carefully, avoiding the poisonous barb, wrapped her tail around Heatstroke's and let sleep take her for the night, as the fire in the hearth burned bright.


End file.
